Wedding Bells
by AssassinOfRome
Summary: Sherlock and John have got to go to John's cousin's wedding. But everything is not as it seems. Especially the bride... Werewolf!Sherlock Sequel to Nighttime but I think it can stand alone. I'm such a douche for not noticing my error in this sum-up before
1. Prologue

"…yeah Sarah. I know. This is really important to you. I'm not offended. Of course, I know. Who do you think I am? Ok…bye. Love you. Bye bye. Bye." John walked into the room where Sherlock lounged on the sofa. John stared at the detective, perplexed.

"You haven't moved for…" John glanced at his watch. "10 hours. Aren't you bored?"

Sherlock wriggled.

"Of course I am but you don't need to know that. You told me to stop shooting things and moaning. So I did. Sarah busy?"

John sat down, resigned.

"Yeah. She can't come. Got a conference. A big one. Who am I going to take now?" John gestured to the golden envelope on the table and shook his head.

"You don't have to take anyone, do you?"

"Course I do. I mean it does say 'Dear John Watson, You are invited to the wedding of your cousin Henry Baskerville to his beautiful wife, Lisa. This invitation can be used as an entrant for you and one other. The address is Baskerville Hall, Dartmoor. The wedding is on the 16th of March but feel free to come early but no earlier than the 10th. Seeing you soon, Henry and Lisa.' What am I going to do?"

Sherlock shrugged something unusual for him. But John had been used to finding things unusual. He had found out that Sherlock was a werewolf only 3 days ago. An idea popped into John's head. He stared at his best friend's skinny form lying almost horizontal.

"Sherlock…?"

"Yes?" He dragged out the word.

"Will you come to the wedding with me?"

Sherlock turned to stare at his flatmate. A quizzical look was dancing in his silver eyes. A mischievous smirk was beginning to form.

"What's in it for me?"

"I won't tell Mrs Hudson you destroyed her kettle."

"Done."

"Alright. Pack your stuff."


	2. Train Journey of Boredom

The train journey to anywhere is always incredibly boring. But the journey to Dartmoor was even more so. The compartment was empty, par Sherlock and John, and the scenery whizzing past the window was just as bleak as the rest of the cold, grey February evening. The only thing that varied in the carriage was the food cart and it's heavily lipsticked owner. Even then, it was boring. Sherlock didn't want the cold tea that the good doctor had forced him to drink and the lady's story was easy to read and nothing was of any importance to him. He would probably keep her in the part of his mind where seemingly unimportant things were stored. It already contained the solar system, a mental image of Alan Davies and the plot of Ace Ventura.

"Come on Sherlock," John had badgered "I thought that being a werewolf would make you more willing to drink." Sherlock hoped the tea lady hadn't heard the last part. He didn't mind lycanthropy (except for the spasms before changing) but everyone else knowing and being _sympathetic_, he shuddered at the thought, was something he couldn't bear. He pushed away the polystyrene cup and turned the conversation to John's family, who the detective guessed would be present at the wedding.

"Oh my family are alright. Harry's now sober and Mum and Dad are Ok. You'll like them. They're… eccentric. Like you but much, much milder. The weirdest they got was insisting everything in the house was green for Saint Patrick's Day. Dad's half Irish so…" he left the last sentence to be filled by his best friend's already over active imagination.

"Which side is Henry from?"

"Oh Henry. He's Dad's brother's son. My aunt and uncle will be there. Harry said they're so proud. I've told her about you." Without Sherlock noticing, John had swiftly changed the subject back to him. The surprise must have read on his face because John went instantly back to the previous conversation.

"Never met Lisa. It will be nice. Big place where they're having the do. Baskerville Hall. Remember going there during the summer when I was little. But it wouldn't be the same without Uncle Charlie, Dad's other brother. Heart attack, couple of years ago. I was in Afghanistan. Didn't even go to the funeral. Couldn't. Hey, are you ok." At that point, John grabbed Sherlock's shoulder. He jumped, startled. His gaze had just began to float out of the window to the moor that John knew didn't captive Sherlock's interest. The detective shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Yeah I'm fine. Just tired." John was uncertain of his friend's honesty but after being awake for three nights straight with hardly anything to eat or drink, Sherlock did look shattered.

"Ok. It's just… you're quiet."

Sherlock smiled at his flat-mate.

"I'm fine."


	3. Harry's Hot Chocolate

"Johnny Boy!" cried Harry, wrapping her arms around her younger brother as they were reunited in the elder's room the next morning. The pair was almost identical. Most people would have thought they were twins but Harriet was a full year older then her sibling. But their tastes were similar. Harry wore a burgundy jumper whilst John wore beige. It was surprising to all that knew them that John was the one that was risking his life almost every day. When he was small, he wouldn't even climb a tree. Harry, on the other hand, climbed (and fell out of) plenty and even shoved her brother up a few. He would cry and she, laughing all the while, would tug him out usually aided by her partner in crime, Clara. The girls' friendship grew into unacceptable love and they ran away together. They only returned when Harry saw the pleas from John on her Facebook wall. By that time, people had grown to accept Harry and Clara's love for each other. They got married in a registry office and most of the family had been present. But on the 'Great Escape', as Harry had titled it, John's sister turned to drink. Clara couldn't take it and broke the marriage off 3 months after it had started. After that, Harry ditched the tequila and vodka shots in an effort to get her wife back. Clara let Harry move back in but there were no promises on anything.

"How are you, little bro?"

John tried to shove his eager sister's arms off his shoulders

"You're choking me." He squeaked. Harry quickly let go.

"When did you get here? And where's Sarah? Do you want some hot chocolate? I know you like it when it's cold."

John put his hands up. "Whoa. Slow down, sister. Yes I would like some hot chocolate."

"Sit down, Johnny."

John obeyed the order. He had always done what Harry said, even if he knew that it could have been dangerous. She may have shoved him up the trees but he always did grab and handhold to pull him up. Maybe it wasn't surprising that he took regular risks. Living with Sherlock was one.

"Here you go. Two sugars and a splash of milk, just they way you like it. Oh nuts, I forgot the marshmallows. Do you want some?" John nodded and Harry threw some in. "So when did you get here?"

"Last night. By train. It was a nightmare. Didn't get here 'til two." John replied. Harry laughed in her special sunny way that always made her brother smile.

"Where's Sarah?"

"She's still in London. Has a major course on the day of the wedding. Can't miss it. She'd get fired if she did." Harry pouted on finding out that her brother's girlfriend wasn't up for inspection. 'May as well try,' Harry thought. 'Only the best is good enough for my Johnny Boy.'

"But," John sipped the hot chocolate that Harry had given him. "I did bring someone else."

"Who, who?" said Harry, excited to find out who in John's life he had chosen to bring instead of his girlfriend. She was going to have some fun teasing him about this.

"Sherlock Holmes" replied John slowly. He could see the mischievous light dancing in those slightly greener eyes that he hadn't seen for months as she squealed with joy. She curled up in her seat with her hot chocolate.

"Where is he? I want to meet him now."

"You can't. He's sleeping. We had a late night and Sherlock couldn't sleep a wink on the train."

"Why? I imagined him to be quite flexible like that."

"Well," John hesitated "He's…he's a werewolf. But don't tell him I told you. He'll kill me."

"Don't worry. We're family. We share all our secrets."

"You don't seem surprised."

"Nah. I thought it wouldn't be something like that. I mean how else can he stay awake that long? I'm just glad he's not a vampire."

"I think you've been watching too much of that Twilight crap."

"That may be so but he's a werewolf so I guess you've been watching too much…Teen Wolf!" she shot back. She started to giggle several seconds later. "I've missed you Johnny."

"I've missed you too, Harry."


	4. Reunions In More Ways Than One

John walked into the room where his parents and sister were waiting to go into dinner. He did notice Henry and a woman on the other side of the room but now the only person he wanted to talk to was his mother. He hadn't spoken to her since he left for Afghanistan. She probably didn't even know he was here. Seeing the ginger bob he called home, he quickened his pace. When he tapped her on the shoulder, she gave a monumental shriek.

"John!" she turned round and grabbed his round the waist. It was easy to see where Harry had got her strength.

"Mum…" he stared around at the alarmed faces that surrounded him then shrugged and embraced his mother warmly.

"I'm never letting you go. When did you get here? Why didn't you call?" she said into John's jumper, the sound slightly muffled.

"Let the boy breath." John's father placed a hand on his son's shoulder when his mother let go.

"Good to see you again, son."

"You too, Dad."

Harry joined the three with a huge smirk all over her face.

"Who's this Sarah that Harry's been telling me about? Is she here?"

"No." replied John, slightly awkwardly. "She's got a conference to go to. Couldn't make it. But she does send her love."

"What a nice girl." crooned his mother, obviously satisfied. "So who did you bring?"

"My new best friend. His name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. He's a detective. We worked together."

"Isn't he the guy who's in your blog?"

"Yep. That's him. Should I go and get him? He's outside."

"Yes, dear."

John exited through the big oak doors he had entered through. Sure enough, on the other side was a tired but clean looking Sherlock. His black curls drooped but were newly washed. His coat was hanging off his skinny frame but he had dusted it down so it was presentable. His eyes were shadowed and his skin was pale (well paler) but he looked eager and a small spark was dancing in each silver eye. John hadn't seen his this excited for a while.

"I can meet them now?" he assumed

"Yep. Come on"

They stepped through the doors and everyone turned to look at them. This hadn't happened when John had come in before.

"John." Harry's voice rang out. "You didn't tell us he was hot."

"Yes, son." To John's surprise, said his mother. "Next time give a warning."

Sherlock's expression was surprised. He hadn't expected such a reaction from some related to John. Heat rushed to his cheeks, giving them an unusual pinkish tinge. So it was slightly ironic when his eyes latched on the only girl he had ever loved. Unfortunately, she was stood next to the man John had informed him was Henry. The groom. She must be his bride.

Dammit, Irene.


	5. Transformation works best alone

**Does anyone know Stapleton's first name? I don't have a clue. If it's wrong, I will change his name.**

Dinner was a quiet affair. John chatted to his parents, became aquatinted with Barrymore, the butler, and shook hands with Henry's best man, Frank Stapleton. Sherlock had gone to bed soon after the meal was finished. John couldn't blame him for trying to get away. His whole family seemed to want to get off with him and Harry was the worst. For a lesbian, she sure was flirty towards him. He hoped Clara wasn't around. Another fight would be the worst thing to happen. Henry's fiancé had also evacuated the party, claiming she had a headache. John took this as a chance to have a much-needed catch up with his elder cousin. A jukebox played in the background, serenading the light conversation.

…..

"Irene. Stop."

She broke her grasp on Sherlock's wrist and stop kissing him.

"Why? I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Irene but it will never work. I mean, you're not even married and you already seemed to want an affair."

"But you're the only man I've ever loved."

"Try telling that to Godfrey and lover boy out there." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the door.

"Sherlock, the night you got hurt is the night I realised I loved you. And it broke my heart when you never came back. By the way, do you still sing?"

"Don't change the subject."

The pair both recognised the song that tinkled from the floor below. It fitted the scenario perfectly.

"I love you,

But I got to stay true.

My morals got me on my knees I'm begging please,

Stop playing games.

I don't know what this is but you got me good, just like you knew you would.

I don't know what you do but you do it well. I'm under your spell.

You got me begging you for mercy."

"So you do sing!"

"A little." The detective admitted.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. But I had to do this." whispered Irene.

Then Sherlock felt the piercing sensation in his neck. He closed his eyes as the drugs coursed through his system. Suddenly his stomach clenched. Oh Crap. Irene screamed as the silvery light began to shine. The wolf lay on the floor, panting hard. The bride-to-be had already fled. He was in for it now.

**By the way, the song is Mercy by Duffy. Adios!**


	6. Feverish Fantasies

**I suck for not updating this sooner. I mean I really suck. Sorry. Sort of a filler chapter until I can be assed to write something better. Beware! At some point, Irene and Sherlock will get laid thus creating Mini Sherlock from Left, The Red Headed Leauge and Mother's Day. I wont go into much detail. It will just be them running into Irene's bedroom at the end of the next chapter. Probably. **

**AOR**

Sherlock woke later with a huge headache and an urge to vomit. He kept his eyes shut against the glare of the overhead light. Where was he? Opening his eyes hesitantly, he saw John leaning over him, stroking his forehead with a wet towel. A groan escaped his mouth before he could stop it. John looked worried.

"Are you OK? You've got a fever of roughly 140 degrees. I was really scared until I remember what you told me about your first transformation. I thought you were going to die."

"Where did you find me?" Sherlock groaned. His stomach lurched as he sat up. Tactfully, John grabbed a pink plastic bowl and handed it to Sherlock. Several seconds later, it was filled with vomit.

"Ew." Sherlock said, repulsed at his own stomach contents. John bit his lip anxiously. Sherlock tried to stand but John forced him back onto the bed.

"No way mister. You aren't going anywhere. I found you staggering around on the landing. You collasped as soon as you saw me. Now, I clean this," he removed the reeking bowl of vomit. "And you are going to stay there." John turned and walked into the bathroom taking the bowl and towel with him. Sherlock heard a flushing sound as John shoved the bowl's contents down the toilet. After that there was a brief silence then the sound of running water. He returned swiftly with a thermometer and newly soaked towel.

"Open up." Sherlock's mouth opened to retort and John took this oppertunity to shove the thermometer inside. Sherlock leaned back on the pillows, sulking as the mecury rose higher and higher. John gasped.

"I don't believe it! You were cooler asleep!" He removed the device and showed it to Sherlock. It read 158 degrees. The detective gulped.

"Lie down." John instructed. Sherlock, suprisingly, obeyed his orders instanly. John's worry increased but he didn't let this show. In full doctor mode, he lay the towel on Sherlock's forehead and called room service for some ice. Whilst he was waiting, he carefully unbuttoned his friend's white shirt, revealing an even whiter chest. Sherlock blushed madly, blaming the fever for making him hot. When this came, he shoved it on Sherlock's bare chest, on hsi forehead and under his neck. 10 minutes later, Sherlock's temperture was 132. John decided this was a good point to let the detective sleep. The good doctor didn't dare leave his patient. They were best friends and John would blame himself forever if something happened to him. The sun had gone down long ago and the room was decorated with strangely shaped shadows. A piercing howl ripped through the night. John shuddered remembering the tale that his uncle told him everytime he came to stay as a small boy. _The Legend of The Hound of The Baskervilles. _


	7. Keep it Quiet

**Hello! Again I suck for not updating. I'm just keep getting caught up in The Red Headed League, Molly and Half a Century. Yeah. This chapters pretty T but not graphic. Also very short. Sherlock and Irene get naughty! The next chapter will probably be the wedding. Most likely at least. Bye guys! AOR **

When Sherlock could stand without fainting and had a considerably lower tempreture, John allowed him out of bed. He still vomited a fair bit but Sherlock told John that this happened frequently when he was in transformations. This, in the past, had caused many 'friends' like Sebastian, to think he had an eating disorder. The first thing he did as soon as he was allowed out was talk to Irene. Their relationship couldn't go on; she was getting married to John's cousin and if anyone found out, John and his family would lose all respect for him. John was his only friend. He didn't want to risk their friendship. He walked slowly down the corridor and knocked on Irene's bedroom, praying that Henry wasn't in. Luckily he wasn't and Irene opened the door.

"Sherlock? Where have you been? Henry said you were ill. I thought you were just avoiding me because of our relationship."

"That's what I came to talk to you about. May I come in?"

She nodded and held the door open. Sherlock walked in and, seing that there were no chairs in the room, sat awkwardly on the end of the bed. The room was painted with pink and gold paint and decorated to the highest extend of luxury. A red velvet sofa sat in one corner and there was a Chinese dressing screen in another. The bed was oak and four poster with a gold eiderdown. The pillows were well fluffed and soft. Irene sat next to him. She placed her hand on Sherlock's bony one, sending a shiver up his spine. This was so wrong.

"Irene, I...I can't."

"You can't what?" She asked, raising her hand, stroking his jaw.

"I can't...do this...anymore. I can't be with you when I know you're getting married. To my best friend's cousin nontheless."

"Yes. I do pick some, don't I? But I'll stop if I can be with you. Only with you."

She ran her hands through his curls. He moaned in pleasure but turned away.

"No. Irene. We can't."

"Why not?" she sighed and removed her hand. "I don't want to run anymore, Sherlock. I don't want to have to hide from who I am. I want to be free to do as I please. You make me feel free." Irene grabbed him again and pulled him into a fiery kiss. It was so good. She began to loosen her jacket. She patted the bed beside her.

"It's not going anywhere."

Sherlock lay down and closed his eyes as she stroked him tenderly. His last thought before he was englufed in her touch was: _Oh Crap. Not again. _


End file.
